


Justice and Retribution

by autumnsnows



Series: Dark Knight Week 2020 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnsnows/pseuds/autumnsnows
Summary: At Ghimlyt Dark, A Garlean lies broken at Autumn's feet, and a choice must be made.
Series: Dark Knight Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006458
Kudos: 6





	Justice and Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of Dark Knight Week 2020 - "Living Shadow" is the prompt.  
> A bit of a meditation on what justice means, even if we refuse to believe it.   
> Using OCs as a proxy for my own internal dialogue, you know how it goes.

Thick black smoke, barring light’s entry both into and out of the battlefield.   
The deafening sounds of ordnance, of magitek machinery, of steel against shield.   
The cries of the victorious. The cries of the defeated. The cries of the living. The cries of the dying.   
Nothing but dull noise. The din of a distant crowd.   
The only thing Autumn heard was the ragged breathing of the defeated Garlean at her feet.  
“Not even a conscript.”  
The shadow stepped out from behind Autumn. The Garlean’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to scream.  
“Quiet.”   
The shadow stomped down on the Garlean’s mouth with the heel of her boot. A swift motion. A sickening crunch. The rending of bone, the cracking of teeth. Blood poured out of the corner of the Garlean’s mouth, who now could do naught but whimper.   
“This seems unnecessary,” Autumn said quietly. The tip of her sword remained trained on the Garlean’s chest.   
“Hardly,” the shadow replied, the yellow of her eyes flickering and swaying like the smoke that surrounded them as she turned to face Autumn. “This doesn’t go far enough.”   
“He’s already defeated,” Autumn replied flatly.  
“You would stay your blade if you believed that. Its steel shows more resolve than you do.” The Garlean’s whimpering grew louder. The shadow’s heel dug further into his mouth.   
“I said ‘quiet,’ cretin, or this boot will come out the back of your head.”   
“What are you trying to achieve here?” Autumn asked. “A simple communication to the back lines, and he’s our prisoner. Left to rot the rest of his miserable life in a jail cell, or between the teeth of some beast. We have more important things to address.”   
“An ally of yours lays dead not 10 yalms from her, slain by his hand. He showed no remorse. Why would you spare him?” The shadow pulled her own sword from its scabbard and pressed the tip into the Garlean’s exposed neck. Though its steel was ephemeral, blood still trickled from where the shadow’s blade pierced the Garlean’s skin.   
“I’m not in the business of retribution,” Autumn replied.  
“What is your business, but retribution?” the shadow asked. “You’re Sword of the Scions. You meet their foes with fire and fury. Hundreds of bodies lay broken in your wake. Was denying them mortality not retribution for their transgressions? Or does it only matter when you have to stare them in the eyes?”  
The tip of Autumn’s sword wavered. Slight, but noticeable. “It wasn’t retribution. It was justice,” she said quietly.   
“Is that what you believe? Is that what you truly believe?” The shadow asked. The Garlean gurgled and moaned. The shadow’s boot pressed down harder.   
“I sense a desire for pontification, shadow,” Autumn said, annoyance apparent in her voice. “And if that’s what you’re after, I’ll make sure you don’t receive it.   
The shadow’s form shuddered, agitated, her eyes turning red.. “You know my name, and you will speak it, lest I rend you in twain.“  
“As if you would do such a thing. An empty threat from a wisp of smoke.”   
A shock of pain went shooting through Autumn’s head, causing her to drop her sword and palm and dig at her face. The shadow still, her foot keeping the Garlean in place even as Autumn’s blade bounced into the dirt and rubble.  
“If death is the only way you shall open your eyes, then death shall you receive. My form is immaterial and black - yours bleeds red. As I have given you my blackblood, so too can I take it away, and you will be left as the blood this blighted soil drinks.”  
“Metaphors. Symbolism. Everything you say is useless. Riddles, turns of phrase - why would I dignify you with your name if you won’t even dignify me with straight, honest words for once in your godsdamned curse of an existence?” Autumn shouted, though nobody could hear.  
“Because you’re not ready for them. You said so yourself.” Though the shadow stood a yalm away, her voice rang in Autumn’s head as if the words were shouted directly into her ear. “My words are only a riddle because you refuse to hear them for what they are.”   
The pain in Autumn’s body began to spread to her chest, a phantom force seeming to be pulling her very soul apart from the inside.   
“You speak with the tongue of a hero. Say the things heroes should say. Respond to things a hero should respond to. But who taught you what a hero should say or do?”   
Autumn grimaced. Though further pulling had ceased, the pain was still near unbearable.  
“I...I..”  
“You were taught just like anyone else was taught. Through stories told by others. You never even stopped to consider that what they taught was wrong, didn’t you?”   
“Why...would I…”   
“Why, indeed. Easier to fulfill expectations sought by others than fulfilling your own expectations, yeah? There are many of them, and only one of you. Their needs outweigh yours. That’s what a hero does, right? A hero does that which is good for all.” The pulling sensation inside of Autumn began to ease.  
“It’s...what a hero does, yes.” Autumn’s words choked past her throat.   
“Then you know that a hero would kill this man.” The shadow looked down at the Garlean man. His eyes widened, and his limbs began to thrash weakly. “Because that is what is good for all. This man - not as a conscript or in servitude, but in genuine belief in the empire - has directly accounted for hundreds of deaths. Indirectly? Thousands. Innocent lives who weren’t given a choice of how their existence would end. He begs you to spare him like hundreds begged at his feet. And while you may think that a life in prison is ample atonement, you still have left him with that which he denied his victims: choice. Choice in how he dies, be it the blade of our countrymen or at his own hand. Choice in how he lives, be it as a valued informant or condemned traitor. And he’s free to continue making those choices. Week by week. Hour by hour. Second by second.”  
“Yes...but..” Autumn whispered.  
“You spoke that what you do is not retribution, but justice. Yet, by not killing him where he lies, you do neither. Lives are not avenged, and his diseased thoughts might yet spread to susceptible ears. Is that justice, Autumn?”  
“...No,” Autumn said.   
“Is it retribution? Revenge?” The shadow’s voice grew louder, more pointed.   
“Neither,” Autumn replied.   
“You’re right. It’s neither. It’s a kindness given to someone who denied that same kindness to others.”   
“I’m...sorry,” Autumn said. The grip on her soul changed; rather than being pulled apart, it was as if it was being embraced. Looking up, Autumn found herself face to face with her shadow.  
Her Bravado.   
“You already know you’re forgiven,” Bravado said. “You were forgiven once, you are forgiven, and you will be forgiven again, and again, and again. As many times as it takes for you to forgive yourself, I will forgive you.”   
Releasing her ghostly embrace, Bravado returned to the Garlean, his attempts to escape only yielding mere inches of progress, and pressed her boot back in his mouth.  
“Justice and retribution are sometimes one in the same. This man’s deserved fate makes that clear. Stand, Autumn. Deliver your retribution. Get your justice.”   
Slowly struggling to her feet, Autumn reached over and grabbed her blade. The Garlean thrashed, choked screams and cries of pain muffled by Bravado’s boot. Looking down at the Garlean, she regarded the fear in his eyes.

Then she ran her blade through his heart.

As she stabbed, Bravado’s own sword came flashing downward, its blade replacing the boot in the back of the Garlean’s throat as it buried itself in the dirt beneath him. The Garlean did not even get a chance to cry out - save for some involuntary gurgles, sound would no longer escape his lips.

As his body went limp, Autumn pulled her sword out of the Garlean’s chest. Reaching down, she ripped a part of his uniform not yet soaked through with blood, and used it to wipe away the blood he had left on her blade. 

“Justice.”


End file.
